He didn’t need words, she realized. Her touch was enough.
Behind Bree, Ronan was rumbling in his deep voice. “I think it’s too late for an investigation, Dylan. They’re coming.”
Ronan didn’t specify who they were, but there wasn’t much mistaking the sirens that wailed across the fields and from the end of the drive to the house.
Dylan had pulled on jeans and a button-down shirt. “Inside,” he commanded. “Now.”
Seamus grabbed Bree’s hand and hustled her across the damp lawn toward the house, sweeping up the pile of his clothes on the way. Bree stumbled up the steps and into the kitchen as the harsh sound of sirens coated the air.
Chapter Seven
“Seriously—who called the cops?” Nadine demanded as Seamus and Bree, Dylan, Sean, and Tiger entered the kitchen. Dylan closed the door behind them and locked it. The other Shifters had faded from sight outside, blending into the early gray light.
Bree’s heart was pounding. Seamus still had hold of her hand. They were bound together through the clasp, as though Seamus wouldn’t go feral as long as they didn’t part.
Spike had handed Dylan the shotgun. Dylan popped the cartridges out and gave the unloaded gun back to Nadine. She took it, tight-lipped, but locked the gun into the cabinet inside the basement door. She wasn’t foolish enough to go waving it around in front of police—well, not again, anyway. A night in jail in Louisiana had cured her of that.
“Who, is a good question,” Dylan said. He moved to the front room, his words trailing behind him.
Seamus released Bree to resume his clothes, but he didn’t move far from her. He was settling the T-shirt as Sean unstrapped the sword from his back.
The sword was gigantic, with a broad hilt, and looked very old. Letters Bree couldn’t decipher were etched on the hilt and the crosspiece, running down into the sheath.
The Sword of the Guardian, Bree knew, though she’d never seen one. The blade was driven through the heart of a Shifter who’d died or was dying, to turn his or her body to dust and release the soul to the Summerland, the afterlife.
This sword, which looked ancient, must have gone through many Shifters in its time. Bree took a step back as Sean held it across both hands, and she noticed that Seamus did as well.
“Will ye lock this in yon cabinet with your weapons, lass?” Sean asked Nadine. “Can’t be letting the cops get hold of it.”
Nadine heaved a sigh and beckoned him to follow. Sean went with her to the basement door.
Dylan returned to the kitchen. Bree couldn’t see the other Shifters outside, but then, Shifters were good at hiding themselves.
The easiest thing Dylan could do was hand off Seamus to the cops. He could claim that Nadine and Bree had been Seamus’s hostages, and Dylan and his Shifters had come here to rescue them and take Seamus in themselves.
Everyone would be happy, except Seamus, who’d be tranqued and taken away, likely to be put into a cage and then terminated. Bree was well aware what humans did to Shifters who were considered dangerous.
Bree sent Dylan a narrow look. “Don’t you dare. You don’t even know if he’s guilty.”
Dylan ignored her. He’d taken what looked like a chain from his pocket, and now he dangled it in front of Seamus.
The chain was of silver and black metal, woven into thick links. At its end hung a pendant, the Celtic knot, which would rest against Seamus’s throat. Dylan wore an identical chain, as did all the Shifters here. A Collar.
Seamus’s face went gray. “No, I can’t.”
“Suck it up and put it on,” Dylan said sternly. “The police can’t see you without one.”
“It’s fake.” The slow growl of Tiger’s voice filled the room. The big man with eyes as golden as Seamus’s touched the Celtic knot on his own Collar. “Like mine.”
Sean returned to them as Nadine moved behind him and, of all things, started making coffee. “That’s supposed to be a secret, big guy,” Sean said to Tiger.
“They need to know,” Tiger answered.
Fake? Seamus was studying the Collar in grave suspicion. It sure looked real to Bree, no different than the ones around Sean’s or Dylan’s necks ... and even Tiger’s.
Bree went cold as she realized the implications of what Tiger had said—his Collar wasn’t real. That meant there was nothing to stop him from becoming that huge Bengal again and tearing into everyone, including Dylan.
Come to think of it, when Tiger had jumped on Seamus to bring him down, his Collar hadn’t sparked. The Collars were supposed to, whenever a Shifter started to seriously fight. It would jerk pain through the Shifter’s entire nervous system, shutting him down.
Bree and her groupie friends knew good and well that the Shifters had adapted to that pain—had to or it would have killed them long ago. They could fight each other at the illegal and secret fight clubs, ignoring the Collars the best they could to battle it out within the rings.
The fight clubs had some rules—no killing was the biggest one. Second biggest, fights were for exhibition only. Their outcomes did not change a Shifter’s place in the dominance hierarchy. Bree had attended a few fight clubs in New Orleans but had not yet been to the one in South Texas. She wasn’t even sure where it was held, but she knew it existed. Word got around.
Seamus slowly reached for the chain. He flinched when he closed his fingers around it, though the Collar did nothing. He stared at it for a long time, a swallow moving the throat the Collar would bind.
“I can’t,” he said in a near whisper. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“It won’t do anything but rest on your neck,” Dylan assured him. “You’re going to have to trust me, son. If they see you without a Collar, they’ll arrest you on the spot. Or maybe they’ll just shoot you.”
Seamus couldn’t take his eyes off the Collar. He wasn’t stupid—Bree could see he fully understood that the human police would go ballistic the minute they saw Seamus with a bare neck. But the idea of wearing it was making him a little crazy. He’d never worn one, had somehow escaped the captivity that all Shifters now had to endure.
Sean contrived to look hurt. “I made that Collar meself, lad. Put me heart into it. Looks just like the real thing, doesn’t it? I’m an artist.”
Seamus ignored him. He snapped his gaze to Bree and held the chain out to her. “You do it.”
Bree blinked. “Me? Why?”
Seamus’s gaze softened. “I won’t mind so much if it’s your touch on my skin.”
“Ah,” Sean said quietly. “That’s how it is, is it?”
Bree didn’t answer. She noted Tiger watching them intently without seeming to—Tiger was an enigma.
Seamus had his gaze on Bree again, silent, trusting her. Bree let out a breath and took the Collar from him.
The chain was warm to the touch, where she’d expected it to be cool. The pendant had a Celtic knot in raised design on the front, a flat disk in back. Bree assumed that the pendant held the chips on the real Collars that somehow measured a change in a Shifter when he was about to get violent. Bree had no clear idea how the Collars worked—Shifters willing to discuss them believed in the theory that they had magic inside them as well as electronics.
Bree put her hand on Seamus’s shoulder. His skin rippled under the shirt as he held himself back from shifting. His chest rose with a long, worried breath.
Under Bree’s guiding hand, Seamus sank down to one of the kitchen chairs. The other Shifters and her mother didn’t move, watching with intense scrutiny as Bree touched the chain to Seamus’s neck.
He snapped his eyes closed. Bree caressed his shoulder, trying to soothe him, then she very slowly slid the Collar around his neck.
Seamus froze, the breath he’d been drawing halting in his chest. His body shuddered once, then went rigid.
Bree was about to ask Sean how the Collar clipped together in the back, when the ends joined and fused under her fingers. She blinked at the chain, which was now smooth and whole, encircli
ng Seamus’s neck, pressing into his skin, indenting it.
“It’s too tight,” Bree said quickly.
“The real ones are tighter, lass,” Sean said. “Seamus, man, you all right?”
Seamus opened his eyes, his body stiff, his golden gaze fixing on Dylan. “You let humans put these on your family?” Rage filled his voice. “When they came for you, you surrendered and let them do this?” He pointed a stiff finger at the Collar. “How does that make you a good leader?”
Sean’s face clouded. “Steady, lad.”
Dylan said nothing. Though his expression didn’t change, Bree thought she saw something uneasy inside him. The choice to take the Collar, to make his family, pride, and clan wear them, must have been painful for him.
“It was necessary,” Dylan said, his tone neither admonishing nor ashamed.
“I’ve heard the arguments.” Seamus peeled himself out of the chair, unfolding to his full height. The Collar caught a gleam of the rising sun, glistening around his tanned throat. “That taking the Collar and living in Shiftertowns helped Shifters not starve, to have more cubs, grow stronger,” he went on. “Do we look stronger right now? I have to pretend to be one of you, to bow my head and be taken away instead of fighting my way free. How does that make us stronger?”
“We can discuss it later,” Dylan said, mouth tight. “You’re pretending to be one of us so hell doesn’t rain down on all Shifters in South Texas. When the police come in, you will shut up, and I will talk to them.”
Nadine shoved her way through to the table with cups of coffee, two in each hand. She set them down, and Sean immediately grabbed one, looking relieved.
Nadine glared at Dylan. “What do you mean, when they come in? Police don’t come into my house without a warrant. I know my rights. I’m not letting them tramp in here, getting my carpets dirty. You let me talk to them.”
Without waiting for dissent, Nadine headed to the front, her muumuu swirling around her. She hadn’t bothered to get dressed.
Bree hurried after her in alarm. Her mother didn’t like police, and Bree pictured them all being arrested together and thrown into a squalid cell after Nadine gave them a piece of her mind. “Mom, wait.”
“Don’t worry.” Nadine made it across the living room and yanked opened the front door.
The floodlights had come on, fighting with the lights from the cops’ cars in the lightening grayness. The garish glow illuminated the four uniformed police who’d climbed out of the cars and aimed handguns at the house.
“Oh, lordy,” Bree said softly.
“Can I help you, officers?” Nadine stepped out onto the porch. She had a cigarette between her fingers but didn’t reach for the lighter in her pocket. “Is something wrong?”
A woman in a suit with a gun in a hip holster strolled past the uniforms and toward the porch. “Ma’am, we heard word that Shifters had converged on this house. We came to see if you were all right. Are they in there?”
Bree watched her mother debate whether to lie and say the Shifters had gone or had never been there at all, versus having the police push their way in, claiming they had a right to when there was a clear danger.
Bree caught Nadine’s eye, and gave her a faint nod. Tell them the truth.
The truth, Bree had learned, meant different things to different people.
“Yes, they’re here,” Nadine said. “But they’re my daughter’s friends. They came to breakfast.”
Bree stole back into the living room and ran to the kitchen. “Make breakfast,” she said rapidly to the Shifters. “I have an idea. Go with whatever I say and do.”
Seamus stared at her a second or two, then he seemed to understand. He cupped her face with his big hand then let her go.
“Right,” Sean said behind him. “Someone find me a mess of eggs.”
***
Sean cooked. Seamus rummaged in the cupboards and removed plates and things, enough for breakfast for six. Dylan had taken up a stance at the back door, watching out the window.
Sean had eggs and bacon going in two frying pans, instructing Seamus to bring him ingredients from the refrigerator—salsa, peppers, limes, whatever Seamus could find.
Tiger was the most restless, pacing the room, checking the doors and windows as though calculating the best way out if the place was stormed.
Bree, who’d run upstairs, came barreling back down just as Seamus heard Nadine finally consent to let some of the police into her house. Bree slid into the kitchen, nearly shoved Seamus down onto a chair, and slammed herself to his lap.
She’d put on the tightest top and skirt imaginable, the skirt showing off her legs from hip to ankle. Her eyes were once more made up with eye pencil to look catlike, and she’d drawn whiskers on her face. The lines were wobbly, but solid. She’d also put on a new set of fake cat’s ears.
She’d become the groupie again. Seamus couldn’t decide whether she looked adorable or sexy as hell.
Bree nuzzled his neck, her arms wrapped well around him as Nadine led the police into the kitchen. Around Bree, who continued to nuzzle and kiss him, Seamus saw a woman in a suit flanked by two uniformed policemen.
The presence of the police should send him into a panic, but Seamus viewed them as though through a haze. Heat had started in his heart and was busily working its way down his body. Not only was Bree sexy as hell—okay, that was an easy decision to make—she was doing this to protect him. Mates did that.
“Bree,” Nadine said in exasperation. “I told you, I don’t like that groupie stuff at the table.”
Bree slid from Seamus’s lap, looking only slightly embarrassed as she straightened her brief skirt. “I know, but ...” She circled behind Seamus and slid her arms around him. “I can’t resist him.”
Not only did her clasp calm Seamus, it kept him from fingering the Collar, which was too damned tight. If he gave in to instinct and grabbed at it, he’d maybe dislodge it, revealing that it wasn’t real.
Sean turned from the stove. “Breakfast is up. Dad?”
Dylan moved slowly toward the table, eyeing the police. This was a Feline used to being in charge, Seamus knew, but he’d been around long enough to know when to be forceful and when to back off. He hated backing off, Seamus saw, but a Shifter didn’t get to be leader—and then keep his life after he conceded leadership—by attacking when it wasn’t prudent.
Tiger underwent the biggest change. As soon as the police had entered the kitchen, he’d ceased pacing, sat down on a chair, and went still as stone. His big face was a careful blank, his yellow eyes fixed on the table.
“This is Detective Reder,” Nadine said brightly. “She’s worried about rogue Shifters in the area.”
Reder was on the tall side for a human woman, her black hair tucked into a neat bun, her brown eyes quickly taking in the Shifters, Bree, the room, the exits, and Sean at the stove.
Seamus wondered how the detective had known they were here. He couldn’t imagine Dylan and his trackers being so clumsy as to let themselves be followed, or letting them use the GPS on Bree’s phone—a Guardian like Sean would have been wise enough to disable that. Or maybe it had been as simple as one of the hunters who’d been chasing him giving the police the license number of Bree’s truck.
Dylan folded his arms and deliberately did not meet Reder’s eyes. “These Shifters work for me. None are rogues, as you can see.”
“Who are they?” Detective Reder asked crisply. “Names?”
“I’m Dylan Morrissey,” Dylan answered in an even tone. “My son Sean is cooking breakfast, Tiger here is a liaison with Shifter Bureau, and Seamus McGuire is one of my trackers.”
“And you are all here, because ...” The detective paused, her dark gaze impenetrable.
“Because of me,” Bree said. She looked up at Reder and gave her an inane little laugh. “I couldn’t let Seamus go last night—we were having so much fun. Dylan and the others came to find him this morning, to make sure he went back to Shiftertown like a good boy.” S
he turned an annoyed look on Dylan and stuck her tongue out at him. “Spoilsport.”
Chapter Eight
Reder transferred her interested gaze to Bree, and Bree popped her tongue back into her mouth.
Beneath her, Seamus sat rock still, his head turned so his gaze rested on Bree. Safer that way. A storm of emotions roiled in his eyes, which would betray him if he looked at Reder.
“Explain all this,” Reder said to Bree. “Shifters are supposed to spend their nights in Shiftertown.”
Bree kissed Seamus’s cheek while she thought through what to say. The buzz of unshaved whiskers was pleasant on her lips, but she couldn’t let herself get distracted.
“Seamus and me got to dancing.” Bree lifted her head but gave Seamus another squeeze. “I could tell he liked me, and I asked him to come home with me.” She shrugged. “We lost track of time, I guess. So his friends came looking for him.”
“Trust me,” Nadine said wearily. “They did lose track of time. But what can you do with a daughter who’s addicted to Shifters?” She shook her head, the sadness of the world weighing on her shoulders.
“I’m going to need to confirm that,” Reder said, still focused on Bree. “Who did you see at the roadhouse?” She didn’t get out a notebook or anything, only watched Bree as though memorizing everything about her.
“Oh, lots of people.” Bree screwed up her face, as though thinking then giving up. “I’m new here. I don’t know everyone’s names.”
“But he would.” Reder’s glance fell on Seamus. “Who was there, Shifter?”
Before Seamus could speak, Sean broke in. “Me, for one. How else did I know where to start looking for the lad? Broderick, Ronan, Spike ... oh, lots of people from Shiftertown.” Bree hadn’t seen any of the Shifters here at the bar, but she had no doubt that Sean would make sure they all swore they’d been there.
Reder rocked on the balls of her feet. “The problem is that there’s been two deaths.” Her voice filled with steel. “Two men have been found dead near the roadhouse, their bodies ripped up as though by wild animals. These two men were armed, but their shotguns were likewise torn apart. No human would have been strong enough to do this, so we immediately knew ... Shifter.”
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